adrena

Something in a passing wind
Stops to make the head turn,
Cocked in quiet contemplation
Of surging sensations,
As if power
As if understanding,
Were drifting on open sails
Meant to be clasped from without gods hand
Comprehendible even in mortal minds
Still so naked and larval
Among intellects in the universe
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there is more, i think, still brewing. . . . . .